What Dead Men Leave The Living
by starlight1228
Summary: Granger died, and his career on Kensi's fathers sniper team left a lot of loose ends. When Kensi and Dom stumble across some of those loose ends, and Dom shoots them both, they have to stop a biological warfare disaster. Problem? (aside from the biological weapons) They're completely on their own. - DO NOT ever write your summaries this terribly
1. Prologue Type Thing

**THIS IS FOR ALL YOU PEOPLE WHO DIDN'T READ THIS IS YOUR LIFE!**

* * *

**KENSI BLYES POV**

**CEDARS-SINAI HOSPITAL**

* * *

No one likes hospitals. If they do, something is seriously wrong with them. Dom is sitting next to me, he says it's for Grangers protection but I know it's really to see how I'm holding up. I know it's kind of weird for me to be here, but I feel like I should. His kids have left for their hotel room across the street, so I talk to Dom.

"Can't we get Hanna over here?" I ask and Dom shakes his head.

"Sure he doesn't want the Assistant Director of NCIS getting killed, it makes our agency look bad. But beyond that he doesn't really care," Dom explains and I bury my head in my hands.

"What makes Sam hate him so much?" he asks and I laugh humorlessly.

"Because he's a hardass with a total lack of empathy, do you not remember those Libyans?" I ask and he shrugs.

"Yeah," he says a bit uncomfortably, "but he has to deal with that with teams from all over the world and probably had worse in his military career, by now he's probably looking at it analytically so he doesn't break down everytime he loses someone," Dom says profoundly.

"That was deep," I say and he shrugs, bending down to tie his shoe.

"Nothing much to it, I just think what life's like in another mans shoes," he says and rises, heading to the coffee machine. The nurse closes the curtains to Grangers room and then locks the door, handing the keys to me.

"If any alarm sounds you sprint over there, unlock the door and see whats going on. Stay clear of nurses, doctors and orderlies, and stay awake," she instructs me before leaving for the night. I check my watch, it's two in the morning. Something thumps on the window and I rise from my seat, Dom's trying to figure out how the machine works so I head in. The rooms lights are half off and there's all kinds of tubes and wires running into Granger. It's disgusting and I want to turn away but be motions for me to come over. I pull a stool next to his bed and sit.

"Yes, sir," I answer and he looks me in the eyes.

"I already talked to my family, now I need to talk to someone from NCIS," he croaks.

"What about Hetty?" I ask. He barely chuckles and it sends him into a fit of coughing, his face paling with the effort and something dispenses, making him relax.

"Getting anthrax when you're in your thirties doesn't do anything good for your lungs. They say that with the combined force of the bullet has entirely made my left lung collapse and now my right lung is getting overworked..." he trails off and looks at something in the distance I can't see before refocusing.

"I can't talk to Hetty because she'll tell me I'm gonna live and to tough it up. I know I'm not. I used to think people were being theatrical when they said they knew their time had come, everytime I encountered difficulty on my missions with Don I never felt in real trouble, but this is different," he says with a bit of nostalgia, once again trailing off and spacing.

"Anyway," I say and clear my throat, making him focus.

"Hanna won't listen to me and Dom's too young to get it, Craig is in an undisclosed location and Morrow is in DC meeting with SECNAV and the rest of the Pentagon, so that leaves you," he says, that's Granger for you, obeying classification laws on his deathbed.

"So what is it you want to say?" I ask and he clears his throat, it seems like a tremendous effort for him.

"First of all I want you to bring down these sons of bitches," he says with such ferocity that I'm surprised. "Second thing is that there's a letter in the third drawer of my office desk with a Lithuanian address on it, I want you to mail it three days after I die," he says cryptically and I nod, a bit puzzled, who the hell knows anyone in Lithuania, let alone where it is on a map?

"Third of all, I'll answer any questions you have completely honestly," he adds and I'm really surprised by this, Granger has never been this chatty before. Maybe it's something dying people do.

"Why are you such a hardass?" I ask and he smiles at the question.

"I've seen the most incriminating evidence tossed out of court because of some stupid interpretations. So you gotta follow the rules real well, especially with the ACLU jumping at you from behind the bush," he says. I don't understand that idiom at all, but I act like I do.

"Who do you know in Lithuania?" I ask and he tenses up.

"Old colleague," is all he says.

"For them to have been an old colleague Lithuania would've been part of the Soviet Union," I say, I was kid around the time of Gorbachevs reforms, so we learned about the Soivet states, and he nods.

"Yup," he assents and it gets quiet, until Dom walks in.

"Granger, Kensi," he addresses us, "Hetty is here to see you," he says and Granger shrugs.

"What the hell, let her in," he says jokingly and Dom nods, a little befuddled by Grangers notably good mood.

"I'll tell her," he says uneasily before slipping out.

"Did my dad ever regret killing people?" I ask out of nowhere, surprising myself I even asked it. Sometime this bugs me, especially after I've killed someone, I wonder if my dad ever regretted taking another mans life. I can tell it took Granger off guard because he looks at me, startled.

"Well," he beings, "we didn't talk about the job too much, but yeah, I guess it did bother him," he says, a little hurriedly, like he thinks it won't get out in time. The door swings open and Hetty walks in.

"Miss Blye I would like a word with Mr Granger," she says in her usual no-nonsense tone and I stand, I take one last look at Granger, for all I know this is the last I'll see of him, and leave.

* * *

"So how is he?" Dom asks and I shrug.

"Not too well, he says he's gonna die but I doubt it," I say unconvincingly and Dom sighs.

"I wish it hadn't been him you know?" Dom says and I roll my eyes.

"Of course you don't, we all wish it was the FBI Assistant Director, or the NSA one or the CIA one but-" I say but he cuts me off.

"I know Kensi, but still," he says and I nod, whatever helps him get through this I'm fine with it.

"So how're your parents?" I ask and he shrugs.

"Doin' alright, living in Ft. Houston," he says and I nod.

"That's near Houston right?" I ask.

"San Antonio," he corrects me.

"Same thing," I grumble.

"Mr Vail Granger wants to see you," Hetty says from behind us and I jump, Dom however, just stands there.

"Yes ma'am," he says before slipping past her.

* * *

**DOMINIC VAILS POV**

**CEDARS-SINAI HOSPITAL**

* * *

I'm walking down the hall to Grangers room and am filled with sadness. I'm going to Egypt alone this month undercover and Granger was supposed to help me prepare, and I was supposed to help him crack some codes. I guess that's not happening now.

"How're you feeling?" I ask stupidly and Granger gives me the most sarcastic expression I've ever seen a man wear.

"Fantastic, could run a marathon," he croaks and I laugh a bit.

"Sorry," I apologize, last time I came to this part of a hospital my younger sister Sadie was dying of leukemia. He tries to make some hand gesture to wave it away but he's too weak.

"Ehh," is all he says before sort of motioning for me to come closer. "You know I don't regret recruiting you," he scrapes out and I nod. Grangers been a sort of surrogate father figure. Dad did a great job, always supportive of me, just like Mom. But after Sadie died and Carrie had Zuri they had to help Carrie and her family out of their financial crisis, making them busy. Not that I minded, Carrie and her husband were victims of some huge defrauder.

"You're one of the best agents I've ever had, you're smart, don't hide that. And the computer thing, not all people see it as legit, but technology is part of the world now, so use it," he says. He's the one dying and he's giving me a pep talk.

"You'll be fine you know," I say.

"And the sun rises in the west," he says and I narrow my eyebrows, then slowly understand.

"That's what a lot of people who _think _they're dying say," I encourage him but he rolls his eyes.

"Trust me, I know it," he says and I leave it at that. I don't want to know all the factors contributing to his death. I don't want it to be made obvious his lungs are functioning right, there's not enough oxygen getting to his organs, then they start shutting down from the lack of materials to function. I don't want him to make it obvious, to make it true.

"Look, get an organ transplant," I throw out, trying to think a way out of this.

"'Too unstable,' I got that one from my doctor," he says with mock pride.

"Look Granger, I know how you're feeling right now, you know I do, but giving up doesn't help," I say, remembering those crazy jihadist and the professional kidnappers, shivering at the memory.

"Yeah, but you didn't get anthrax in your thirties," he replies and that surprises me.

"What? When?" I ask.

"Some biological attack, forgot which one," he trails off and looses focus for awhile. I don't disturb him. We sit like this for a while until he breaks the silence.

"Do me one thing," he says and I listen closely, I'm not going to zone out now.

"In my house there's a cardboard box hidden in the basement. It's in one of the air ducts," he says with a sense of urgency, his breathing is shallow. "Aiday, my wife, she knew about it but," he stops to gather his breath, or his emotions, then gets one of them together, "what's in there," he says, "you need to analyze it," he says, he's grabbing my shirt collar by now. Suddenly he slumps against the bed, releasing his hold. I'm not sure if he's dead, unconscious or sleeping until something starts buzzing. A nurse runs in and calls in other doctors and nurses. They push me back and I stay away, not wanting to interfere. Kensi runs in and a look of pain is all over her face. She runs over to me and starts crying as the doctor pronounces him dead, their efforts fruitless. They usher us out and draw the curtains.

"Dom, Granger asked me to do something really weird," Kensi blubbers out and I listen, he told me to do something really weird too.

"What was it?" I ask.

"He said, to send a letter to Lithuania, three days after," she sobs and I hold her closer. She never seemed to like Granger, so I'm a bit confused by all this, emotion.

"He told me to do something like that too I say," holding her tight.

"What do you think he was into?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say, "but we're going to find out," no one acts that crazy on their deathbed unless somethings gone bad, really bad.

* * *

**KENSI BLYES POV**

**GRANGERS HOUSE**

* * *

Dom has been watching me like a hawk since Granger died. Two hours ago was his funeral and now we've been assigned to scour his house for anything related to work. Good thing only he told us to do some weird shit. Dom goes straight for the basement and I start looking around for this desk he told me about. Then I remember it was in his office.

"Dom, the letter is at his office," I groan and hear something break. "Dom?" I call down the stairs, wishing I had my piece.

"Yeah, I need some help down here," his voice strains and I hurry down. There's a normal sized box at the foot of the stairs.

"What's that?" I ask.

"The box whose contents Granger wanted me to analyze," he reminds me.

"Don't you want to see what's inside first?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"No, could be something dangerous."

"But we won't know without opening it," I say mischievously and he sighs.

"All right, but you do it," he says, tossing me a box cutter. I cut it open and he pulls the flaps apart. "The hell?" I hear him whisper and look over his shoulder. I don't even know what to say. It's a bloody military uniform wrapped in an evidence bag. It's dated to the 1980's.

"Why didn't he just run this past a crime lab in the Army?" I finally ask and Dom shrugs.

"Whatever it is it must be important, look, there's a note," he says, plucking it off the top of the collar.

"What does it say?" I ask impatiently and he shrugs.

"It's in the Cyrillic alphabet, do you know Russian?" he asks and I shake my head. I was about to say Callen, but he's not with us.

"Hetty!" I exclaim.

"Yeah, Hetty investigating something Granger left us to do, real great," he says sarcastically and I roll my eyes.

"You don't need to be so cynical of her," I say and he shakes his head.

"You're missing the point," he tells me and I turn him to face me, annoyed. Then I realized we're standing on stairs. Narrow stairs. As well-coordinated as Dom may be, being flipped around on a tiny step will send you sprawling. He falls back, right onto the military uniform. Realizing it before I do, he rolls off and onto the platforms of his feet.

"What makes that box so heavy?" he asks out of nowhere.

"What? I want to know why you don't trust Hetty," I say and he waves his hand.

"There was definitely something metal in there," he says, propping it up on a shelf, a bit high if you ask me. He pulls out his phone, Eric told me he built an X-Ray into it, something I highly doubt, when a squawk of static erupts into the room.

"Clear the area," he says, running for the stairs and pushing me up them.

"Answer me!" I hiss, trying to run faster than him.

"That was my Geiger counter that just went off!" he snaps, stopping as we reach the top of the stairs.

"Why do you have a Geiger counter in your phone?" I ask and he flips something on said object.

"Undercover stuff, I don't remember turning it on though," he says when the front door opens and I hear people talking. Only it's not any language I know. Dom raises a finger to his lips and points to the closet, there's one piece between and whoever these people are will take him more seriously, given as he's got the muscle, literally.

"Freeze," I hear Dom say a few rooms over. Discussion breaks out, the two burglars or whatever having broken English, I don't understand a word. Dom repeats himself and I hear guns go off. Quickly I scour the closet for a weapon and find a revolver, locked and loaded. Barging into the hall and into the room, the two men lie dead on the floor, a shaky Dom standing by the door.

"I didn't want to..." he says, unable to take his eyes off the dead bodies on the floor.

"It's okay," I say, then my mind flies to the box in the basement. "Dom, stay here and call Hetty, I'm moving the box to my car," I say, running down the steps as I say it. I pulled my car around back, thank goodness, and shove the box in the trunk. What the hell is Granger doing with radiation?

* * *

**For those of you who have read these chapters before, I'm sorry you had to read them again.**


	2. The Real First Chapter

**So if you read This Is Your Life start HERE! And btw I just upgraded from Chrome to Mozilla Firefox (because Google spies on you :O) and it's AWESOME! HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! And sorry I didn't update as soon as I did. This site was being stupid (again) and blocked me from accessing the 'Manage Stories' tab. I _might _move this story to Wattpad so stay tuned. Oh I can access the list of my stories, I just can't edit them. -_-  
**

* * *

**KENSI BLYES POV**

**NCIS OSP HEADQUARTERS**

* * *

Sitting in the OSP building will rot your mind when you're the one being interrogated. Last I saw Dom he looked ready to have an emotional break down after killing those two guys. I know how in movies people drop guys no questions asked. Yeah, your adrenaline is pumping and they are a threat, it's self-defense. But when you actually talk to those people, go and confront them, you see them becoming a threat, but you know you can't let them go one hundred percent and become a threat, when you know you have to make the first move, that's when it hits home. That's when people doubt. And where there's doubt IAB will follow. Or, in the federal case, the DoD. They were swarming all over the place as soon as Dom called Hetty.

"Mr Vail, why did you feel the need to draw your weapon?" I heard them ask as they led him away.

"Miss Blye, why did you not accompany Mr Vail?" one of them asks me from the other side of the table.

"Miss Blye, why didn't you keep an eye on things from the hallway?" another one asks me from the other side of the room.

"Miss Blye, why didn't you have your service piece?" another one asks from behind.

"Miss Blye-"

"One more question and I will explode!" I snap. I hate all these questions! They hardly give me time to answer.

"Miss Blye," one of them tries, a short, middle-aged woman who has a colorless, emotionless face.

"Stop! Let me tell all I know, _again_, at my speed so I can answer. Okay?" I say, looking at each of them for full comprehension. They're like vultures. "Dom and I were there-"

"Please, call him Agent Vail for the record," one of them says, pulling out what looks like a miniature typewriter to someone with no training, but I know it's a stenotype.

"Agent Vail and I were going through former Assistant Director Grangers house for things that belong to the agency or contain classified information," I say, one of my first lessons in lying was to tell the truth as much as possible. If they know that most of it is the truth and are unsure on the other parts they'll just take it as the truth. But this is the Department of Defenses version of IAB. And they love to fry agents assess. I go through the whole ordeal, only we were checking the basement for government property, not finding radioactive material and a bloody thirty-something year old military uniform in an evidence bag. Certainly not that. It was never in Grangers house as far as they're concerned. It's in the trunk of my car, where Dom and I swore to never tell about it, not even to Sam or Hetty.

"Well Miss Blye, everything seems to be in order. You can wait in the conference room," an older man says, I get the feeling he's the boss. I walk to the seldom used conference room that's on the other side of the office space. Sam is watching me from below and motions for me to come down. I glance around, the IAB/DOD people are flocking to the interrogation rooms where we hold suspects, I have a feeling Dom is in one of those. I hurry down and he slips behind a wall in case one of them forgets a pen or something ridiculous.

"Callen's replacement is coming in next week," Sam says barely above a whisper.

"What?" I say, not understanding him.

"He's supposed to be the LAPD-NCIS liaison, so we can get more juice from the LAPD," Sam explains. "You know how Hetty used to be, so Vance-"

"Vance?" I ask. "Who's that?"

"New director, Morrow stepped down after the whole Sullivan Industries thing," Sam reminds me. I nod, with the radioactive material and bloody military uniform this information must've escaped my notice.

"So he thinks that since Hetty couldn't cooperate, LAPD won't assist us," I say.

"Pretty much," Sam answers. "Better hurry, can't be gone too long," he says, patting me on the arm. I hurry up the stairs and to the designated conference room.

There's someone from the DoD there.

"Took you a little longer than I expected, almost thought you'd gotten lost," he joked, I smile to be polite.

"I already told the other five guys what I saw, heard, felt, even smelt," I say irately.

"Oh you think I'm here for Vail?" he says. "No no no," he assures me. "I'm here for a less recent matter. You remember that MCRT team that left about a week ago? Well we're investigating a few of their members for shoddy policework now that most of their murder and theft cases have been declassified," he explains, sounding a bit annoyed.

"You need an Advil or something?" I ask.

"No, just a little irked about this whole business. Some of the people in MCRT act like they chase down hyper-intelligent serial killers and run away from explosions every day. Spent the whole day with them and I know the FBI, who has ten times the case load, gets half as much action," he says a bit hurriedly, pulling out a few files.

"This won't take long, just take this packet home tonight and fill it out. Turn it in to your supervisor tomorrow morning or in time for the daily mail," he instructs, handing me a packet that's nearly twenty pages thick.

"Great, more paperwork," I grumble.

"Don't worry. It's mostly yes or no, a few short answers though," he adds as an afterthought. "Now I need you to answer a few questions," he tells me, pulling out a tape recorder.

"High speed," I say sarcastically.

"Yup. Reliable though," he says. "Now about Agent Gibbs..."

* * *

The DoD man has questioned me for about an hour, when Dom walks in.

"Perfect!" he exclaims, "we were just finishing! Mr Vail I will contact you later, unless you want answer questions now which I think is highly unlikely," the man says brightly.

"What's it about?" Dom asks, looking tired, nervous, and guilty at the same time.

"Your recent investigation with the MCRT team," the man explains, "and the questions only take about an hour, ask Miss Blye," he says enthusiastically, gesturing to me.

"Yeah," I agree, "and he gave me homework," I say, waving my packet around.

"I think I just want to go home," Dom admits.

"Perfectly fine. I'll call you tomorrow and we can set a time, but I want it to be as soon as possible! I almost forgot!" he says, fishing around in his pockets for something. "Here's my contact information. I check my email a shameful number of times a day and my phone is rarely active, so you should be able to get through to me!" he tells Dom, handing him what appears to be a business card. "And you Miss Blye," he says, turning to me, "I may need to call for follow up questions. Very rare you know, but in case something new pops up that wasn't covered in the questions," he explains cheerfully, handing me a business card as well.

_**Richard Parsons**_

_**Department of Defense Special Investigator**_

_**Phone: 302-984-2389**_

_**Email: richard_parsons **_

"Parsons," I say, sounding it out.

"That's me," he says, packing up his things. "Have a nice evening!" he calls back to us as he leaves.

"Well, he's awfully cheerful," Dom says and I laugh.

"How was your meeting with the Gestapo?" I tease.

"I have a non-paid suspension until they clear my name," he says with all seriousness.

"What?" I exclaim. No one I know has gotten such harsh punishment. We were given time off to recover from killing someone and it was paid. I understand the suspension, really I do. Killing someone, even in self-defense, isn't natural for humans. You need time off and if you weren't acting in self-defense any cases you were working could be thrown out. But since we have undercover ops that's really bad. Terminating a cover and then flashing their agent status on the news lets the bad guys know we're onto them.

"Think about it," he says, almost reading my mind, "everyone else had a witness, everyone else killed terrorists, not two bankers!" he exclaims, putting his head in his hands.

"But you've got too good a record!" I protest. There's no way they can _not _pay him!

"Kensi. I'll be fine," he assures me.

"Fine. But you need a ride home," I say.

* * *

I pull up in front of his apartment complex.

"Why don't you move somewhere else?" I ask. This part of town has gone downhill since he moved here last year. When a break-in becomes nothing new, it's time to leave. That's my rule of thumb.

"All the good places get taken up too quickly," he says solemnly, tired out by the days events.

"Your salary could definitely cover something better," I say.

"Yeah, but it's nice to not have a huge rent when you get suspended," he says, trying to make a joke.

"I could loan you some money-" I start.

"No, no way! The DoD will have it covered. I'll be back by next week," he says. Next week, next week the replacement comes.

"There's something else," I say stiffly. Dom looks at me.

"What?" he asks, looking concerned.

"Callens replacement comes in next week," I say and a surprised look appears on his face.

"We don't need-" he says, but trails off. Everyone knows we need someone else on the team. "Do we know him?" he asks instead.

"Maybe. He's supposed to be an LAPD liaison," I tell him and he groans. "He may not be that bad," I say comfortingly.

"I just don't think we're ready," he says suddenly.

"What makes you think that?" I say.

"We only lost Callen six months ago. Sam rarely stays after the mandatory seven hours unless he's under and with the new director of OSP..." he trails off for the second time.

"Well it's happening whether we like it or not, so get your sleep," I say like a mother and he nods.

"Okay. Call me when the guy shows up, I want a debriefing on this new guy."


	3. Vacation and a Suspension

**So before an NCIS producer thought of making Kate's replacement an Australian Navy member or intelligence, but when they saw Cote they decided to make her Israeli. So I decided to make a run with an Australian.**

* * *

**KENSI BLYES POV**

**NCIS OFFICE OF SPECIAL PROJECTS**

* * *

I walk, more like storm, into OSP that morning. Whoever replaced Hetty needs to get something straight about Dom. If he did kill two people, he would have a reason. Sam sees me storm by and looks like he's about to call out to me, but stops himself. Must be the look on my face. I throw open the doors to Hettys- well, the new guys office. I'm not really prepared for what I see.

He's tall, and surprisingly young, younger than Lara Macy. And then I hear the the voice.

"'Ello, I'm Blake Coleman," he says pleasantly, the Aussie in his voice louder than a jumbo jet.

"Where's the new director?" I ask, looking around for someones who is not a recent college graduate.

"That'd be me," Coleman says confidently.

"No. You're too young," I say and he shakes his head.

"I'm older than you are, so don't count me as too young," he says lightly.

"Are you even American?" I ask. Anyone who is not Hetty or Vance heading OSP is completely wrong.

"No. The Australian and American governments have had liaisons in nearly every agency since the Cold War, exchanging information and such. NCIS didn't do much fighting the Cold War, so my position is new. And I have more, recent, experience. I'm completely qualified, I assure you," Coleman explains. I still don't like him.

"I'd like to have a word with you about one of your agents," I say crossly.

"What ever is this about?" he asks.

"Dom shouldn't be on _unpaid _suspension," I say curtly.

"Dom?" he asks, and I scowl.

"Don't you know your own agents?" I snap.

"I don't know their nicknames. Is this about the agent that shot two bankers in Grangers house?" he asks.

"Yes. He wouldn't have shot them if he didn't have a reason," I say, trying to sound as reliable as possible. I probably threw half my credibility out the window when I stormed in here.

"Does ring a bell," he says, looking up and then heading over to Hettys-, his desk. "Tell you what, I'll get my friend in the Department of Defense to streamline it along and I'll take a look at the files. Meanwhile, you stay out of trouble," he proposes, looking to me to see if I'll agree.

"All right," I accept.

* * *

**THREE DAYS LATER**

* * *

"Agent Blye," Coleman barks from the upper level, drawing attention from the whole floor. "My office," he gives me one last look before turning back into his den. I turn to Sam and he shrugs. His look says, 'go find out your self'. Slowly, I walk up to the office, afraid it has bad news about Dom.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to a chair, a curt look on his face. "The gun that the bankers shot at Agent Vail with has been lost in the DOD's chain of evidence. Do you know what this means?" he asks, tapping his desk impatiently.

"Yes," I say. And I mean it. Dom has no evidence he was provoked. "But surely no one thinks that Dom would-"

"Anyone who has a badge and testifies how good Agent Vail is will be taken with a grain of salt. You know how your people view police. Sure, they love the ones on the TV, but they only think of the American Justice Department as insanely corrupt," Coleman tells me. Nothing new really. "So we have a bit of a problem. Given how Americans are so addicted to television, they think there's a CSI team as brilliant as the TV one in every police department and if they can't find anything, there's no evidence. You have no idea how many criminals I've seen get declared 'Not Guilty' because there wasn't a TV-style CSI team to declare that person was the exact killer," he starts grumbling and I snap him out of it.

"Sir!"

"Yes, well, we have a huge problem. Agent Vail is currently suspended, but more severely than before," he keeps going on. "Among that, your entire team is being investigated, so I've managed to get Callens replacement in early, he'll be here in two days," Coleman informs and I gape.

"Callens replacement is coming _in five days_?" I say incredulously.

"Yes Miss Blye. And I expect Agent Vail will have charges brought against him within a few weeks," Coleman says grimly.

"I want a vacation," I say, surprising myself.

"I'm sorry?" Coleman says, leaning forward in his seat as if he heard me wrong. This whole affair with the DOD is completely unfair and preposterous!

"I want a vacation," I repeat, "I want to see my mother."

"You expect me to believe you all of a sudden want to see your mother the moment you find out Agent Vail has charges pending, that he'll be brought to court as soon as the ADA prosecuting him has his paperwork together," Coleman says, as if I'm retarded.

"I don't know what you mean sir," I say, hoping he'll realize I'm giving him a cover in case someone from the DOD comes knocking. Coleman gives me a long, hard look when shrugs.

"Aight, you have early leave today," his attention elsewhere, as we never discussed Dom's situation. "Turn this in to HR by the end of the day," he instructs, tossing me a thick packet.

* * *

After I turned the packet for Parsons in to Coleman and the vacation packet in to HR I drove straight to Doms. Whatever the hell Granger wanted us to do, we have do it to clear Dom. Obviously those 'bankers' were there for something that Granger wouldn't have let them get their hands on while he was alive. My phone rings, and I recognize the ringtone as Sams. Being stuck at a red-light, I answer it.

"Kensi," I answer.

"They ID'd the bankers, they were with the Russian consulate," Sam groans. Great. An international incident. Ten minutes later, the phone call is wrapped up.

"I'm on my way to Dom's," I say, "I'll get him." Sam says goodbye and hangs up. Then I go Kensi Leadfoot and speed _way _down the street, swerving around cars to get to Dom's apartment in time. If the ADA has already gotten wind of this, Dom already has his name on an arrest warrant. I see some police officers outside his apartment complex, arresting some guy for drugs and groan. If the ADA has an arrest warrant, they might already have officers on the way. Moving quickly, I run up to the entrance, as if I don't want trouble with the police, then take the stairs up to Dom's second floor apartment. I find 2B and bang on the door.

"Dom!" I yell, and I hear something crash in his apartment. "Dom!" I yell again.

"Kensi?" I hear him ask, his voice muffled by the door.

"Dom! Open up!" I yell to him and someone bangs on the floor above us.

"Don't open the door! She's probably pregnant!" a man yells through the floor.

"Can it would you? My baby needs to sleep!" someone else yells.

"No one cares about your baby except yourself honey," an older man yells and Dom unlocks the door, a look of exasperation on his face.

"Sorry, they do this every time someone gets a, loud, visitor," he explains, choosing his words carefully when so many people can hear him.

"Is she pregnant?" the first man yells through the ceiling and the older man tells him that 'rabblerousers were punished by their mother'. Soon they're all out in the hallway, looking ready to plant their fists in each others faces.

"Lets go inside," Dom says quietly, it's hard to hear him over the din of arguing tenants. What made Dom move here escapes me.

"What's with them?" I ask once we're safely inside.

"Just being normal neighbors," he says jokingly. The confrontation outside seems to have dissipated and I release the air in my lungs, I didn't even realize I was holding it in. I hear a song in the apartment now, it was masked by the yelling of the neighbors. I hear the lyrics a bit.

_"It was the heat of the moment/telling me what your heart felt_," I only need to hear those lines to know what song that is.

"You listen to Asia?" I ask, stunned. I've never seen Dom listen to music before.

"Just classic rock in general," he says. "So whats the urgency?" he asks.

"You know those people in Grangers house," I say vaguely, not wanting to completely dredge up the memory. "Well, they were with the Russian consulate," I tell him.

"Then why did everyone say they were bankers?" Dom asks.

"Because," I say, not sure how to explain this, this is exactly like the conversation I had with Sam over the phone in the car.

* * *

_"What?" I say.  
_

_"They were part of the Russian SVR, you know how they use consulates and embassies as fronts," Sam reminds me, I can hear the frustration in his voice. _

_"What else is there?" I ask, he normally wouldn't get **this **upset. _

_"The Russian government wants him brought to justice and tried in Russia," Sam starts._

_"No way! Fair trial my ass! You did see the last election right?" I exclaim. Who thinks they can do this to Dom? Evidence has them drawing guns!_ Lost evidence, _I remind myself._

_"And if that doesn't work, say he's on the run, the SVR used some of their contacts to put a bounty on his head. And they aren't looking for a way to get him to Russia," Sam says grimly._

_"I've never seen **any **government get this pissed about a dead operative, except North Korea maybe," I add._

_"Maybe this guy was the last of the KGB, I don't know!" Sam exclaims. "But you need to tell Dom, I can't get hold of him."_

_"What about the ADA?" I ask, "are they backing off and letting the FBI handle it, or trying to tackle it themselves?" This is crucial, the FBI is a little slower, but more methodical, careful and successful. The local police however, are faster, but infinitesimally more reckless. Therefore, less successful. But doesn't discriminate.  
_

_"ADA is trying to tackle it. I heard from one of my friends they're filing for a warrant, as soon as they hear back from the DOD," Sam tells me._

_"I'm on my way to Dom's," I say, "I'll get him."_

* * *

I relay this all to Dom and his face has lightened at least three shades.

"What were the Russians doing in Grangers apartment?" he asks, "and why are they so upset?"

"I don't know!" I snap, "but you need to pack, _now_!" This seems to bring him back into this world and he hurries back to what I assume his room is. Ten minutes later, he emerges, a duffel bag in hand.

"You only packed _that_?" I ask, slightly disappointed. This is the guy I've trained.

"You're not the only one I learned mad packing skills from," he quips, then focusing on something a few blocks away. "Squad car," he says flatly.

"Don't panic or do anything rash. That's how we've caught other guys, remember?" I ask. He nods and slowly opens the door to the hall, checks it, and slips out, gesturing for me to follow. He locks the door and I scowl at him.

"You're wasting time!" I hiss.

"They'll waste time with the door too," he answers before walking away from the stairs, away from the window he saw the squad car through.

"I'm not jumping out a window!" I growl, hoping the neighbors won't hear us and give us away.

"Fire escape," he says simply. I roll my eyes, this is just like the movies.

"Fine," I concede. He quickly but quietly raises the window enough for us to escape, then lets his bag drop onto the metal platform. No alarms. Yet. He motions for me to follow him, I can hear the sirens in the distance, a faint whine. That's odd, they don't normal set off the sirens for an arrest, that could alarm the suspect. _Or Dom_, I think sadly. I wonder what's going through his mind, he just found out he's wanted by anyone who needs a fair amount of money, and he's only a Junior Agent. But he's been a different man since those terrorists. He seems more in control of himself, quieter, more serious.

"Kensi, there's one coming this way, follow me," Dom whispers, snapping me back into reality. It's then that I see the uniform posted around the corner, I see the blue of his shirt against the red brick. Suddenly, I feel myself tipping off the fire escape. I grapple for some purchase on the cold metal, but I find nothing. I'm about to cry out when I slam against the ground, only it's slightly cushioned. But I still know I'm gonna have bruises tomorrow. I look to my side and Dom has his finger against his mouth, then points around the _dumpster_. So _that's _how I fell. Dom must've seen the cop before I did and jumped down on this mattress, someone must've thrown it out earlier today, because it's relatively fresh. He probably saw my hesitation as well because he pulled me down with him.

I have a hundred scenarios go through my mind as the uniformed officer walks closer and closer. He's older, let himself go, the muffin-top is a dead giveaway. He walks right past the dumpster, not even giving it a second look. If anything, he edge away from it. Dom waits until he's about ten paces away before slipping out into the open, keeping his back against the wall. There's only a few windows looking out at the picturesque alleyway, and he keeps well under them. I follow suit, keeping my head down. Dom has just gotten past the corner when the cop calls out.

"Ma'am! Wait!" he says something into his radio and runs over, faster than I anticipated. I'm about to knock him out or pull the federal agent card, when he says something I didn't anticipate. "Be on the lookout for a young black male, he's considered very dangerous."

"Well that describes half the apartment complex," I joke, putting on a sweet, innocent smile. I'm definitely _not _helping the very same man evade the police.

"Here, I have his picture," the man says, reaching into his jacket. He hands me a glossy 10 by 8 and my heart drops to my stomach. It's his NCIS printout. Whoever Craig is he must want to stay on good terms with the LAPD. Even at the cost of his own men. "Something wrong ma'am?" the officer asks and I shake my head, handing the photo back to him.

"It's just," I say, sounding if I've just realized it, "he sat next to me on the subway ride here!" the officers eyes widen and he immediately asked me where he was headed. I tell him Santa Monica Pier, we 'discussed' it on our way to the station. He nods and runs off, talking into his radio. I see three police cruisers leave and I head to Doms car, I see him on the floorboard of the backseat when I come closer. I wait for the place to settle down and knock on the window. The car unlocks and I hop in, taking the drivers seat.

"I think I'll be in better hands with the LAPD," Dom quips and I roll my eyes. I know we should probably take them to him, but we need to figure out why the Russians are so upset. Given the reward money, anyone in prison would be willing to kill him for that lump sum. There is definitely something we're missing. And if the DOD _doesn't _find the gun the Russians had, Dom could go to prison for life. So I'm keeping him safe until his name is cleared.

* * *

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**


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